Page 5 of The Bull's Beauty
She frowns, head tilting. “Why would things get busy? The union thing? I’m not going. I told them I’d stay and help Elda.”
I nod a little too quickly. “Right. Of course. I just…wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“You’re acting strange.” Her eyes narrow at me.
“I’ve had a strange few months.”
“You’re not going to do anything reckless, right?”
“Have I ever?”
“Yes,” she says instantly, and I almost laugh.
I look around the room, at the drying herbs, the neatly labeled jars, anywhere but her scrutinizing gaze. I feel a sudden, crushing guilt that I can’t tell her the truth. That I’m leaving tonight, and I might never see her again. That I’d rather face the wilds and whatever’s out there than stay here and be stuck mated to some moronic Bull. But, I can’t say any of that.
So instead, I reach out and touch her wrist.
“I’ll see you later, Annie.”
Her brows furrow. “Okay, I’ll see you at supper.”
I don’t hug her or tell her I love her like a sister, because that might make me burst into tears.
The last wagon creaks out through the southern gate, its wheels kicking up a slow swirl of dust behind it. I stay tucked in the shadow of the drying line, eyes narrowed, arms folded tight across my chest.
Good. Let them all ride off into their happily ever afters. I hope they get splinters.
Turning on my heel, I head toward the orchard path behind the barracks. Everything’s ready. My satchel’s hidden, my escape planned. By nightfall, I’ll be gone.
I should go back inside and keep my head down until it’s time. Instead, my feet drift toward the one place I really shouldn’t be—the training yard.
It’s not even like I mean to go there. I just…often end up near it. Totally by accident. Mostly.
I slow when I hear the clack of wooden weapons, the grunt of impact. The calves are out. Young Minotaurs with awkward limbs and half-grown horns, sweating under the weight of their own spears. They’re trying their best, and even I have to admit that they’re adorable.
And thereheis.
Silas moves through them, correcting their stances with a gentle hand. His dark hair, half-tied back, clings to his neck with sweat. His rolled sleeves expose forearms corded with muscle as he adjusts a calf’s grip on a spear. He doesn’t raise his voice or lose his patience with any of them. One of the smallest boys trips over his own feet, and Silas is there in an instant, crouching beside him. The low, rumbling timbre of his voice makes my pulse spike. “Again. You’ve got this.”
The calf beams, and Silas—fuck him—smiles back. Just a small quirk of his lips, but it hits me like a punch to the gut.
I shift against the apple tree I’m leaning on, suddenly too aware of the rough bark against my back, the way my thighs press together. His shirt clings to his chest, damp and obscene, outlining every ridge of muscle. I imagine peeling it off with my teeth, licking the salt from his skin, feeling that powerful body shudder under my touch—
No! Gods! What is wrong with you?
I dig my nails into my palms. He’s theenemy.Dakar’s second. The one who’ll hunt me down when he’s realized I’ve run.
He stands, turning, and his gaze finds me.
Those dark eyes lock onto mine like he already knows I’ve been watching, knows I’m wet, knows I’m lying to myself.
My breath catches, and for a heartbeat, the world narrows to the space between us. His nostrils flare, as if he can smell my arousal.
I push off the tree, annoyed at the warmth pooling low in my belly.
So, he’s decent with kids. So, what? Doesn’t mean he’s not an asshole.
I bolt down the path.
